The other Sherlock
by to-lick-a-fro
Summary: Ficlet in which BBC!Sherlock's Benedict Cumberbatch meets Sherlock Holmes' Robert Downey Jr. Silliness ensues. RPF.


**The other Sherlock**

'Who am I meeting again?' Downey asks his rep, taking a sip from his blazing hot cappuccino and walking into a rather small hotel room. 'And, more importantly, why?'

'Benedict Cumberbatch,' – Downey snorts at the name once again –, 'and Guy thought it would be useful.' The rep takes a look around the room, decides it'll have to do and makes for the door.

'Wait, where are you going?'

'I need to make a phone call. Benedict will be here any minute. Behave yourself.' He closes the door.

'I will if he will!' Downey calls after him.

He sighs and sits down on the couch, tapping his feet impatiently whilst taking another sip of his coffee. He had mentally prepared himself for a day of talking to journalists with varying degrees of intellect and prescience, pretty much all asking the same thing: is Sherlock Holmes gay? But then his rep had taken him to this hotel he'd never seen before and told him he was meeting some British actor with a very long name and, supposedly, very long legs. He was glad he had his coffee to keep his morning mood at bay.

A short, sharp knock on the door.

'Enter,' Downey says, sounding deliberately authoritarian. He doesn't bother getting up from the couch but looks around when the door opens.

Goodness, he _is_ tall, Downey observes slightly disgruntled. The high cheekbones, light eyes and exotic lips seem somewhat familiar, but he can't place them. The man steps into the room with an air of reverence though, and Downey sits up straighter.

'Mr Downey,' the tall man says, softly closing the door behind him. 'This is great. I'm a big fan.' His voice is naturally low and strikes Downey as versatile: this man was probably capable of doing a spot-on Alan Rickman impression.

'Call me Robert, please,' Downey says, getting up and shaking the man's extremely long-fingered hand.

'Benedict Cumberbatch,' the Alan Rickman sound-a-like introduces himself. Downey doesn't even get a chance to repeat his snorting as the man continues: 'I know, it sounds like a fart in a bath.' He sniggers softly to himself, obviously still pleased with the joke, even after extensive use. Downey grins and invites the man to sit down wherever he pleases, seating himself on the couch once more.

'Self-mockery,' Downey says, putting on a thick British accent. 'I approve.' He slides back into his usual American before asking Benedict to what he owes the pleasure.

'Steven Moffat sent me,' Benedict answers, waving a hand vaguely. 'Seeing as you were doing a press junket here and we were filming quite close by, he thought we should take advantage of the circumstances.'

Downey doesn't quite follow. He puts his elbows on his knees and leans forward, looking up at Benedict who is seated across the table in one of the comfortable arm chairs. 'To do what, exactly?'

Benedict narrows his eyes for a second before leaning back into his chair, looking a little embarrassed. 'Oh, crumpets,' he says. 'You have no idea who I am. I am so, so sorry,' he laughs, shifting in his seat a little awkwardly. 'You must think me some privileged groupie or something.'

'Oh, I've got male groupies now, too?' Downey grins, sipping at the last of his cappuccino. 'That's an interesting development, I should tell Susan.'

'I'm so sorry,' Benedict repeats. 'I'm sure that we were thrown together in this room because we both pretend to be the same man.'

Downey frowns at this remark. 'Please tell me they didn't put something in my coffee and that there's a logical reason why you're going all Fight Club on me.'

Benedict full-on laughs at this before reassuring Downey: 'We both portray the infamous Sherlock Holmes, be it in different settings.'

Realization dawns on Downey's face. He had heard of another interpretation of the distinguished British sleuth – he might even have seen some posters on the way here, now that he thinks about it – but he'd never gotten around to actually watching it.

'Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Holmes,' he says, leaning back on the couch.

'Please, call me Sherlock. And the pleasure is entirely mine.'

'No it's not,' Downey says, 'I can tell by the way your feet are positioned that you'd like to leave this room as quickly as possible.'

'Well, by studying the movements of your right thumb for exactly ten seconds I've deduced that you're ashamed about the fact that you haven't seen our new version of Sherlock,' Benedict retorts, reducing Downey to a hysterically laughing mess.

'Elementary, my dear Sherlock,' Downey says, gasping. 'It's a bloody shame.'

'I would invite you to my trailer to watch the first episode, were it not for the fact that you're probably occupied with talking to the press the moment I leave this hotel room,' Benedict offers.

'Screw the press,' Downey says, jumping up enthusiastically. 'Their choice of topics is extremely limited anyway.'

Benedict gets up as well, pleasantly surprised by this response. 'Don't tell me – his sexuality.'

'No shit, Sherlock,' Downey grins over his shoulder as he prepares to jump out of the window of the floor-level hotel room, Benedict following suit.

'What about your press junket?' Benedict pants when he leads the way, running around a corner.

Downey shrugs. 'They should've known better, putting two deductive geniuses in a room together. Let them talk to Guy, he'll actually try to answer their questions!'

Their baritones join in laughter as they round the last corner and duck into Benedicts trailer. Downey makes a mental note to thank Guy when he gets back. Not just for taking over his press junket, as he was sure he would, but also for introducing him to the other Sherlock, for he felt this was going to be a very pleasant afternoon indeed.


End file.
